


it all fell so fast, it all fell so far

by eudaimon



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eudaimon/pseuds/eudaimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has a point to make when he calls Mackenzie in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it all fell so fast, it all fell so far

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I have no way to explain this - I'm not even sure where the idea came from. It usually takes me MONTHS to work up to writing fic this filthy in a new fandom. 
> 
> You're welcome?

And then there are the other times, the times when he's still angry with her, so obviously angry that she can taste it. And she deserves it, every single second of it - she does, doesn't she? Because she's the one who said she loved him and doubted it, fucked _Brian_ for four months, wrote Will emails while she was lying on her back with her legs spread for someone else.

So maybe this is just as much about her guilt as it is about Will's anger, in the end?

When her phone rings, she's still on her way home, and it's easy enough to divert the cab to Will's building. The lift is waiting and she rides it all the way up in silence, her phone still held in her hand.

It's not unusual for him to call her in the middle of the night.

In the apartment, the lights are soft and Will is waiting on the couch, a glass of scotch in his hand. Everything is different, and _this_ is definitely unusual, but she still recognises the look in his eye - recalls it from years ago. 

"Will? I'm here. What do you need?"  
"What I need from you, Mackenzie," he says, and there's that quiet, measured tone from earlier, "Is for you to walk over here. Please. Do it slowly."

Something in her belly tightens as she drops her purse and her phone on a chair and walks closer to where Will is waiting. He pushes up off the couch so that he's standing and he's so much taller than she is and, when he leans in to kiss her, she has to go almost onto her tip-toes to meet his mouth with hers. There's nothing soft about the kiss, nothing gentle - he pushes his fingers into her hair and holds her to it. It's all so familiar and yet it's fundamentally changed from how it used to be...

Will's never ever kissed her like this before. 

"I still don't know where this morning came from," he says, his fingers still pushed into her hair.  
"I told you - I'm impressed that it doesn't happen more often." Impressed still isn't quite the word that she's looking for. "Now...what do you need, Will?"

"What I need, Mackenzie," he says, biting each word carefully. "Is for you to be completely naked. I won't be, but you need to be. Right now, please." He pauses for a moment; she can't be sure, but she thinks that he almost smiles. "You can leave your shoes on. Over there. By the table."

She doesn't argue. She doesn't have it in her to argue with him about this and, anyway, her cunt is already throbbing because of the way he looks at her.

But the problem with this, she thinks as she's unbuttoning her blouse - the problem with this is all of the bloody glass. From where she's standing, as she shrugs out of her blouse and lets it hit the floor, she can see the whole of Midtown; she's too high up for anyone to see her, which doesn't stop her belly fluttering at the thought that someone _might_. Mac's always been a fan of the illicit, of fucking almost in the open, somewhere she could almost get caught. She's always liked being watched, being used and the way that Will is watching her, how dispassionate his expression is? Makes her nothing but hot for him.

Her bra is pretty but impractical, satin and lace panels the colour of smoke. It doesn't give as much support as it might, but it does have the bonus of making her tits look incredible She unbuttons the back of her skirt and shimmies out of it. It's been years since Will last saw her naked and it occurs to her that he's never seen the scar on her belly, the one that's straight and neat but very _there_. She resists the urge to cover it with the palm of her hand because this is Will Macavoy that she's standing in front of and everything might have changed but he still looks at her like nobody else ever has.

Or ever will.

She stands there in front of all of those windows in her Rigby and Peller panties and her fucking expensive shoes and her cheeks are burning. Will's eyes are dark and unreadable but Mac doesn't look away.

"C'mon, Mackenzie," he prompts, standing looking at her with his arms folded across his chest. "Close, but no fuckin' cigar."

He doesn't sound cruel, when he says it; he doesn't even sound particularly angry. His eyes never leave hers. The Will that Mac was with before wouldn't have gone in for this sort of thing but, then again, the Will that she was with before hadn't been hurt the way that this Will has and, maybe, this is a point that needs to be made.

She glances out of the window, the lights on in the city, and then she turns back to Will, stares straight at him as she reaches behind to unhook her bra. Her nipples are already hard when she peels the flimsy fabric away from her skin and lets it drop. She can't believe how turned on all of this is making her. She can't believe how much she wants this, wants him. She wants him to bend her to his will. Hell, if he wanted her to crawl on the floor, she'd do it; she doesn't think that there's much she wouldn't do, if he was the one asking for it. He doesn't say anything, but he does shoot her a meaningful look. Mac swallows and then she rolls her panties down over her arse, down her thighs, takes them off altogether and stands there naked in front of him.

"Will, I..."

He shakes his head.

"I don't need you to talk right now, Mackenzie. Not unless I ask you to do something you absolutely don't want to do. Then, you're allowed to speak but, until then? I don't want to hear it. Understand?"

She bites her lip and nods.

"Good. Now, I want you to turn around, slowly, and I want you to bend over the table."

Her face is burning, but she does it, bends from the waist and then, for good measure, she moves her feet wider apart, too. She's distracted - by the heat in her face and the sway of her tits, the ache of her wet cunt. She can't see him, but there's no way that she could ever forgot that Will is _right there_ and that he's watching. God, she loves that he's watching.

"You know, I think I'd actually forgotten how perfect your ass is, Mac. It's _actually_ perfect."

"Well, thank you, Will."

She knows that she's not supposed to be talking, but he also doesn't pull her up on it, so maybe it was the right time to push her luck?

"Reach back and spread it for me, Mac. Show me what I've been missing."

And she does it, immediately, without hesitation. She reaches back and spreads her arse with her hands, shows him things that he's already seen because he has already touched every single part of her, but that was three years in the past, so maybe they're both different people than they were then and he could stand reminding.

"What else do you want me to do, Will?" she says, because sometimes, she just can't resist it. She figures that they both know that about her by now.

"I've been trying to get it out of my head," says Will and, in reflection, Mac watches him punctuate with a sip of scotch. "Trying to get you out of my head."

"What about me?" She asks him, adjusting her grip on her own flesh, making sure that she stays properly spread. Blind obedience hasn't always been her defining character trait but, right then, she just finds herself so eager to please.

"Fucking you, Mac. About fucking you into the _ground_."

It's more coarseness than she's expecting, coming from the man who objected to Don's language in front of her that first day at ACN; she wonders how many other things about him have changed? She likes being off balance with him; it helps distance herself from the reprehensible things that she did to a man who looked just like him.

"You can, you know," she says, softly, biting her lip. "I want that, Will. I want you."

He takes another sip of his drink and then sets it down - she hears the heavy rim of the glass against wood. She doesn't hear him move after that so when he touches her, presses his palm against her spine near the nape of her neck and glides it all the way down to her tailbone, it comes as enough of a surprise to make her shiver.

"Oh, Billy, please," she says, sighing the nickname that she barely has the balls to use anymore, but still catches herself thinking all the time. His fingers trail down between the cheeks of her arse, one finger teasing. Which is also something new - she always thought of that as a Brian thing, Brian who'd harboured something of a minor obsession with her arse and what he could get into it.

That finger slides slower, teasing her cunt, and Mac's so wet that it makes her cheeks burn hot, knowing that he can feel how much she wants him. That one finger teases her clit and it's enough to make her squirm against the polished wood of Will's dining table. She bites back a moan.

"Do you know what you look like?" he asks her, voice just as soft as it was earlier in her office and Mac stares at herself in the window, at the way she's bent, arse in the air, the press of her tits against the table, the bright red soles of her shoes. She closes her eyes and feels the throb between her legs, the ache of her nipples. They both know what she looks like. She looks like everything she made herself into and nothing that Will would ever have asked her to be.

She nods. He doesn't need to hear her say it.

"I want you to get down on your knees and suck my dick," he says and, as if for emphasis, he pushes a finger into her, fucking her slowly with it. It's not enough, couldn't be enough, but she grinds back against it anyway, swallowing a whimper. He takes his hand away and Mac doesn't hesitate before sliding down into her knees in front of him. Will's ready unbuttoning, unzipping. His dick is so beautiful, so familiar, that Mac has to fight back an absurd urge to weep. She manages to pull herself together as she curls her fingers around him, stroking, before she bends her head, sliding her mouth down over the first inch and sucking lightly, loving the weight of him resting against her tongue. 

It doesn't take her long to find her rhythm - it's been a long, long time since she gave a blowjob, but it's something she's always loved doing and it's not like you _forget_ , is it? She sucks Will's dick, takes it as deep into her mouth as she can, and let's herself pretend that it's three and a half years ago, that she didn't fuck up, that nothing has changed.

She sucks until she can feel Will starting to tremble, until his hand comes to rest on the top of her head.

"Enough, Mac. That's enough."  
"What do you want me to do now?" she asks, keeping her fingers curled around him, the head of his dick brushing against her cheek.  
"Bend over the table," he says, voice rough in a way she recognises. "Please. That's what I want."

She does it easily enough, presses against the polished wood and watches their reflection in the window as he steps in behind her, rolling a condom down over his dick before he slides into her without ceremony, his hands on her hips to hold her as he does. He fucks her, not hard but _deep_ , slow and careful strokes that seem to go so deep she could almost taste his dick. He fucks her empathically, moving her enough that, when she pushes up onto her elbows to change the angle, her nipples rub against the table-top with every thrust.

And it's good. Jesus, it's so, so good.

"Oh, God," she mumbles, close to the edge already when his hand snakes around her hip, fingers rubbing over her clit. She remembers Will as generous in a way that Brian never knew how to be, Brian knew how to fuck her until she forgot who she was, but he never quite made her feel loved.

This time, with Will, she doesn't feel _loved_ , exactly, but she is starting to remember what it was like.

His free hand digs into her hip and it's all that Mac can do to press her palms against the table and take it, rocking her hips back into every thrust until she's coming, moaning and whimpering, not forming whole words but, inside, screaming his fucking name over and over again. She feels him come a moment later, another couple of thrusts and then he stiffens, his hands trembling where they're on her. Mac bites her lip over a sudden smile.

Afterwards, Will steps away from her to deal with the condom and Mac stays where she is, half-sprawled across the dining table, her cheek against the smooth wood. She feels hot, sloppy and undone. Well-fucked. She feels well-fucked, if not forgiven.

"You could probably get dressed," he says. It's pretty much exactly what she was expecting - he wasn't about to take her to bed, not after he'd made so clear a point - but it does sting a little. She rubs her face with her palm, finally toeing off her shoes before she bends to pick up her panties. She pulls on her skirt, buttons her blouse enough to be decent. She folds her bra and puts it into her purse - she's going straight home to bed and, right now, she doesn't care if the cab-driver cops an eyeful.

Will's back on the sofa, scotch in hand and, if Mac was a stupider woman, she might convince herself that everything that just happened was nothing more than a sudden, vivid flight of fancy.

She stares at him instead, purse in one hand, shoes in the other, her cunt throbbing and lonely without him.

"That was...Jesus, Billy, what happened to you?"

He doesn't answer her for a moment, drinking his whisky and looking out at the lights in the city.

"You," he says. "You. You're what happened, Mac. Always you."

He might as well have punched her in the gut.  
It's not a metaphor she'll ever share with him.

It's a long, lonely ride down in the elevator to the lobby. She slips her shoes back on before she steps out onto the tiles. It's about thirty steps from the elevator to the door of Will's building. Each click of her heel might as well be something that she's done that she wishes that she could change now.

Out on the sidewalk, it's started to rain.  
Waiting for a cab, she hums to herself and tries not to feel so goddamned sad.


End file.
